By The Sea
by TolkienScribe
Summary: An endless being like the Sea witnesses many things. It witnesses the origin of Princes of Dol Amroth. Do not own. One-shot. Complete. Please read and review! :)


**Author's Note:**

**Disclaimer: **Do not own LOTR.

Flames not appreciated. Constructive criticism welcome.

Enjoy!

**~S~**

She knew not what had happened. She had wandered through the forest but had lost her way. She was not gifted like some belonging to her kind to speak to the trees. So she wandered until she approached a stream and sat there, waiting for someone to come after her. Hours ticked by and she spent it by humming lightly. Then her head grew heavy and she nodded off to sleep.

She knew not how long she slept, but when she awoke it was high noon of the next day. Alarm shot through her and she ran in her fear. Where were her people and where was she? She called out, sobbing in fear and loneliness but there was none to answer her. It was as if she had missed them, or perhaps she had slept for so long as to let years pass by her.

She walked every day till she left the forest. Alone, she wandered, eating wild berries when she was hungry and drinking from springs when she was thirsty. She might have looked for means to hunt, if she was in the right mind but her fear to be alone in a vast unknown land was too great.

She came upon another set of forests, and she roamed in them. But the trees were unfamiliar to her and she did not recognize the forest. She wept in her loneliness, for she desired company. She did not sing any longer.

Then a day came when she sat weary and tired against a tree. Her gown was torn and dirty, and her hair had grown long, wild and dull. Her shoes had ripped and broke, so she wandered barefoot. She heard laughter that reminded her of _ellyn _but it was too coarse and rough, and she heard the noises of hounds.

She bolted, afraid, for she had heard tales of orcs and how they sounded. She had not seen one herself, and she was not keen to. But the hounds caught up with her and she sat on the wet, moss-covered ground, heart thumping in fear. But she faced not an orc, but a man. She had not seen the Race of Men before, but he could not have been any other than a man. He held back his hounds and offered her his hand. He spoke, but she could not understand him.

She was afraid at first and more than just a little wary, but the man was kind and soft in words. He was chivalrous, for he rarely ever looked her in the eye and sent some woman or another to look after her needs. They offered her food, which some form of pale meat and she tried it. It was not like anything she ever had to eat but time passed and she grew accustomed to it. Soon her hair returned its sheen and she was no longer weak and thin. But her emotions did not die and she would often pace in her room in her agitation.

"Tell me, child of man, for that is what you seem to be!" She would plead to the young man when he would come to see if she was well cared for. "Have others like me come by these shores? Tell me not that I am the last of my kind, lost and forgotten by kin and kith! Oh, woe on the day I wandered away from my company!"

But he could not understand her and he did not know what he could say to give her comfort. He only patted the back of her hand lightly and shook his head in a silent plead for forgiveness. He did not understand her, and nor she him. For they spoke different languages, and neither had seen the other's kind, or have knowledge upon them so as to seek aid.

There she lingered as time passed by. In awe the people were and so few dared to approach her. She was dressed like their women but her beauty outmatched them and the clothes they provided her, rougher than the ones she wore when she was among her people. The months passed by and she was overwhelmed and ran to the docks, standing at the edge and staring down into the deep waters. The man who had taken her in saw her and ran after her.

"The Sea! The Sea!" She cried out in her anguish and grief, looking upon the waves that were beating against the shore. "Tell me, child of Man! Do you not hear the cries of the gulls? Would that I was with my escort!"

But the young man did not reply, though his eyes were lit with sorrow. He could see her grief and her agitation was almost palpable. It gave him sorrow to see this beautiful lady in such pain.

He was gentle with her, approaching her warily whenever he had time to spare but he held affection for her. Time wore down her grief and anguish, or perhaps she learned to hide it better than before. She only resigned herself to her fate, and the thought that she was alone of her kind was now rooted deeply into her heart.

The years passed and the man gained prowess and fame among his people. He was an able sailor and he governed the waves of the Sea with great ease. The men gladly placed their trust in him. But the she-elf did not age. Her hair was black as night, untouched by frost or snow and her hands remained smooth and unwrinkled. Her eyes were bright and clear but touched a little by sorrow. She spoke little, for she could not speak their tongue, nor could they understand hers. But the man tried always to converse with her and often they spoke in light hand gestures.

And the time came when they finally were wed. She stood serenely on the day of their wedding, her face now a perfect mask hiding her emotions, except for her eyes, which always showed a glimpse of the sorrow she hid deep in her heart. And it did not go amiss on her new husband when she glanced longingly towards the Sea.

A year later, he welcomed a son into his family. Overjoyed he was, and proud he was certainly. His son had inherited many of his features from his mother, except perhaps her immortality and her most prominent elven features. She settled with her head on his shoulder and he cradled their firstborn. So in joy was he that he did not hear her gasp when she heard the gulls cry above them.

And then one fateful dawn came, two years later. And the man came out of his house in search of the she-elf he had taken under his wing. His daughter was wailing in their bedroom but when he awoke, he did not find his beloved wife by his side. His son was looking for her.

He searched and searched but he did not find her, until he came upon the docks and stared down at the deep waters of the Sea, The sounds of the waves were mingled with that of the gulls crying above him. And he wondered, just for a moment, what could have come upon his beloved.

oOo

"Who was she?" The black-haired lady asked, running a hand lightly on a sketch placed on her lap. She was fair, almost elven-fair with pale, youthful skin and black hair pulled in a low bun and held in place with blue jeweled combs. Strands of her hair framed either side of her head, making her narrow face look healthily fuller and her blue eyes were wide and framed with thick lashes.

Her father looked away from his bookshelf, his beard turning a lighter shade of black as age was starting to take over him.

"She was our ancestor. The Lady Mithrellas.." He said. "A she-elf."

The sketch was old, but it was still a replica of the original one, which has since been turned to dust. This one was much more preserved and the sketch was artistically made. It showed a she-elf with jet black hair falling from one shoulder, dressed in a light-colored dressed. She had a narrow face and wide eyes… much like her own. But the she-elf's shoulders were drooped as if in sorrow and her eyes seemed sad.

"She seemed to be grieving."

"It is said that our forefather Imrazór found her lost and afraid, wandering the cliffs. He brought her here and cared for her but she spoke in only her own tongue. He could not understand her but he loved her dearly. Perhaps if the situation had not been too overwhelming, she may have loved him in return."

"I thought it was nothing more than a legend."

"Some say it was. Others say it is not. I say that if our books bearing our bloodlines make mention of her and display her sketch then it is likely to be true."

"Was she… forced into marriage?"

"I do not think so. Many archives say he was very soft-spoken and kind-hearted. She suffered no harm from him."

"She looks like me."

"Aye. Aye, she does. Or rather, you look like her, my dear daughter. And well you should be. You are her descendent after all." Imrahil said, going to her and lightly tucking one of her strands behind her ear. She smiled and looked down at the sketch.

"The Firstborn are gifted with immortality, perhaps there are still some who may recognize her."

"Perhaps, but the elves that are here now do not wander like they did in the past. Mayhap those who knew her have left these shores."

"What became of her?" She asked.

"Some say she drowned herself in the Sea. Others say that she fled in the cover of the night, never to be seen or found. I know that Izamór preferred to think she had run away. His love was so great that he could not go beyond entertaining the possibility that she may have ended her life."

"It must sadden him, to think his wife could not bear to live with him."

"Lady Mithrellas had already lived a difficult life. But come, Lothíriel! I will not have you speak on such dark matters. I have returned from a naval battle and I wish to hear stories that amuse me."

She laughed and relented, placing the sketch on a table with care. They chatted a while until the ground rumbled and shook. Her father glanced at her once and ran to the balcony and she followed him. The air was darker and heavier, and there was a sense of dread among them.

Mordor had awoken.

**~S~**

**Author's Note:**

Yeah, this... this just happened. I do not know how it happened. I was studying clinicals in Neuroanatomy (The problems in your noodles, basically), and this... happened.

Anywho, I was always fascinated with the lineage of the Princes of Dol Amroth and what we could gather from them. I always liked the idea of using Lothiriel in my stories but ffn tends to follow anarchy and surprise surprise! You only find Lothiriel's story almost always connected with Eomer... or make that always.

Anyway, I tried to make it seem as if the part of Lady Mithrellas is something you might read in Silmarillion. However, the part on Imrahil and Lothiriel is more LOTR type of flow. If you do not feel that flow... then excuse me while I hide under the bed in shame. My muse hates me and left me for dead but I still hope I have not lost my thunder.

**Good? Bad? Let me know!**


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